—Hubby subscribes to my blog.
I know it’s true because I saw him on my subscriber list.
What a chap.
What a man.
the Brits are so strange adore the Brits.
I mean, I love love love the idea of a guy subscribing to a site called “My Inner Chick.”
So beautifully Pink & Girlie.
Seriously, my blog is unquestionably and undeniably geared toward women.
Empowering Women. Loving Women. Inspiring Women.
And Sex. (had to throw that in)
So the notion of a male (especially Hubby) reading shit about Skinny Bitches, Carrie Bradshaw, Samantha Jones, Oprah Winfrey, & Unleashing Your Inner Leopard truly turns my crank, babe!
No. Contrary to what you think; It’s not all about looks, a tight ass, a splendid personality, & humor, Honey….
What really turns me on is a dude who” actually” reads my blog.
It’s sort of like getting your partner to watch “The Way We Were” with you.
And that’s not all.
In several of my posts, I’m bitching, sobbing, lamenting, swearing (I say fuck a lot) & mourning about my sister, Kay.
My blog is my own private-personal Sigmund Freaky Freud.
My cure for Craaaaziness, in truth.
But I’m still skeptical that Hubby actually reads this on-line journal.
I ponder, ‘Well, if he did, he’d suggest therapy or something, wouldn’t he?”
I just can’t picture this Liverpudlian soccer dude sitting at his computer reading my profound, philosophical, fanatical, obsessive ramblings.
So I test him.
Yeah, that’s how I roll.
I say strait out, “Do you read my blogs?”
He says, “Yeah.”
A man of few words.
“So what’s today’s blog about then?”
Got Ya SUUuucker!
“Something about you pinching cemetery baskets up at Oneonta.”
OMG! Heeee does read.
“Anything else you want to know?”
God, I love that guy.